


Books and Stitches

by KaisaSegher



Series: Counting Scars [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Past Sexual Abuse (Implied), R plus L equals J, Season/Series 06 Spoilers, past abuse (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:17:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaisaSegher/pseuds/KaisaSegher
Summary: She had gone to Jon at Castle Black and he had freed Winterfell from the Boltons. For her. He had given her home back to her. After that, Sansa had decided to let go of her mask when she was alone with him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first time I post a fic so I would like to say sorry in advance. Would love if anyone would be so kind as to give some feedback. Hope you enjoy.

Jabbing the needle, pulling the thread, going back, pulling the thread. Pulling the thread. Pulling...

Sansa lifted her eyes once more, looking down again almost immediately, hiding her smile behind the copper curtain of hair falling at both sides of her face.

Of course he was looking at her too. Obviously.

Pulling the thread. The thread. She had to pull the thread. Jabbing the needle again.

For although Jon sat once again at the other side of the table, his chin on his hand, going through each and every one of the papers spread before him, at the top of the table Alys, the girl assigned to not leaving Lady Sansa alone with a man however her cousin he might be, knitted absently another shawl to help her endure the long winter.

Maybe too absently, Sansa thought. Maybe not absently enough counting stitches not to notice the silly giggles of the Lady of Winterfell.

However, nobody could really blame Sansa. He was there, in front of her, after all the times they had embraced, and kissed, and stolen caresses when they thought no one was around, and she could wish for nothing more than feeling his lips on hers, his hands under her dress, his soft curls tangled in her fingers.

Not being free to do so was torture. But looking at him and seeing the same desire mirrored in his face and containing her smile was impossible. She was a lady, she had always been the well-mannered, quiet, polite Lady Sansa, even after all they had put her trough after Robb's death. Even more after that. She had learned that someone could use her tears or her laughter against her, if needed be. So she put on her cold mask and killed Sansa, the girl that dreamt of knights and maidens and that the world was just.

But then she had gone to Jon at Castle Black and he had freed Winterfell from the Boltons. For her. He had given her home back to her. After that, Sansa had decided to let go of her mask when she was alone with him. She let herself smile, and giggle, and laugh, and cry when they found themselves by the fire after supper and everyone else had already left. She felt safe with him. Jon was all she had left after her lord father, her lady mother, Robb, Arya, Bran and Rickon were stolen from her. And although he was not her brother, she felt- she knew he cared for her as much as if he was, and that he would never betray her as Joffrey, Cersei or Littlefinger had.

However, a couple of moons ago Jon decided he had to put together some sort of compendium of the history of all the territories inside and surrounding Winterfell. That would help them get back the lands the Boltons had lost to other neighbours, convincing the other Lords to surrender based on how ancient Winterfell's borders were. Jon had wished more than once that Sam was with him. Books and papers and writings were Sam's area of expertise, not his. The next best thing he had was Lady Sansa, who although not a renowned scholar herself, was the only one around who knew where which book was kept. They had been working together from the start, although most times she kept to mending shirts, skirts, sheets and blankets.

There was always someone around. Sansa did not know who had given the order, since there was really no one above her or her cousin, but surely someone had instructed everyone in the castle to not leave Lady Sansa alone with a man who was not even her brother. She had been married twice before, but she would have to marry again eventually and her reputation had to remain stainless.

And whomever had given the order had been right to do so, for the first time Jon and Sansa were left alone in that room, Sansa had gathered all the courage left in her and kissed him. It had to be her, she had decided. Jon saw her as Lady Sansa, never as herself, never as a woman. So when she grew tired after days and days of smiling, of brushing hands by accident, of caressing her back to thank for her help but nothing really ever happening, Sansa decided to take action.

The next time, Jon had locked the door and buried his face between her thighs. At first she did not understand what he was doing, but after a few strokes of his tongue on just the right spot she had her hands clawing at his hair, preventing him from moving an inch away from her, and moaning his name over and over again. When Alys, it had been Alys that time too, got back from wherever she had gone to, the door was unlocked again and Jon was reading his book and Sansa sewing her dress.

However, this time Alys did not seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Sitting there all afternoon. Not even getting up to stretch her legs.

Nothing.

Just sitting there.

Sansa cursed her over and over again. It was the girl's job after all, avoiding that the Lady of Winterfell was alone with a man and that something scandalous might happen. Poor Alys. Poor, innocent, gullible Alys. She didn't suspect a thing, did she? Or at least that was what Sansa hoped, that she and Jon could fool everyone all over the Seven Kingdoms until only the gods, the Old and the New, knew when.

She felt her throat dry, flooded by a sudden unwelcome sadness. How long? How long would it last until somebody found out about them? Until someday some maid, guard or counsellor, or Alys, somebody really, found them embracing, kissing, or worse. It would be so easy, a simple slip, not listening to the steps on the stone floor on the other side of the door, and all was lost. Because Queen Daenerys wanted Sansa to marry some other lord who could grant stability to the North. Jon was not one of those lords. He might not be Eddard Stark's bastard any more, but being a Targaryan bastard was not that much of an improvement. It only made him not her brother, and although that was good enough for both of them, it was not nearly sufficient to the Dragon Queen. If anyone found out about them, the queen would find out and then Jon was very likely to be sent away to the Wall again.

But what would happen if no-one ever found out? What if the days, and moons, and years passed without anyone raising an eyebrow about the scarce moments they spent alone in that room? What would happen then? Would they grow old, hidden from everyone, hiding in the shadows, in the mists of what could never be? Or would one of them... Maybe Jon, it would be Jon and of that she was sure. Would Jon take a step back one day, leaving the path free for her?

She could not decide which possibility she loathed more.

She wanted him. She wanted Jon, and all the things he had described to her the other day when they were looking at the courtyard from the balcony, not really paying attention to what was below. He would give her a family, if she wanted. He would marry her first, because he loved her and the world was already full of bastards. A baby, two, three... He would wake up next to her every day and would put his arms around and kiss her brow whenever she had nightmares about what had happened to her.

If she wanted that. Only if she wanted that.

And then he had vowed to go away if she wanted all of those things with a proper Lord, like the queen had planned. However, she wanted all that only if it was with him. She wanted to take a walk with her hand on Jon's arm. She wanted Jon to hold their children in his arms. She wanted him at her right when they served banquets for all the lords and ladies in the realm, not as her bastard cousin, not as the queen's bastard nephew, but as Lord of Winterfell.

None of that would ever be possible if they kept that secret forever. And she did not want any of those things with anyone else but Jon. No one would ever be good enough. Never.

“Sansa.”

She lifted her eyes, startled.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Jon. Jon was calling her name.

"I do not understand..." he started, shaking his head. “I do not understand how Lord Jon Umber could have inherited Last Hearth from his cousin. Lord Elric had at least five children!"

Sansa put the shirt she was sewing on the windowsill and circled the table. Alys eyes did not leave her shawl for a moment, and she kept on muttering stiches and twisting her thread between the needles. One, two, three, twist. One, two, three, twist.

"Just let me take a look," Sansa asked, pulling the red covered book with long faded letters to her.

She took that chance to lean over Jon's shoulder, trying to make some sense out of the text full of blots of paint and yellow stains of old age. The musty smell from the pages invaded her nostrils, but not even that could distract her from the heat running through her body, after waiting all day to be this close to him. Sansa pretended she was scrutinising every word, every sentence, looking for the explanation Jon needed, while she paid careful attention to his breath so close to her hear.

"It just makes no sense!" Jon grumbled, his deep voice making her quiver. "Here it says Lord Elric left no children after his death. And a few pages before, right here, they say he had five children at the time of the last Great Council."

Absently, as if not even him was aware of it, Jon dragged his fingers on the page until he brushed Sansa's hand, caressing her fingers. A jolt of delight crawled through her body, and she cast a glance at Alys, praying that she was still counting her stitches.

One, two, three, four, loop. One, two, three, four, cast off.

Sansa sighed to herself, slightly relieved, as she run her other hand on Jon's back, feeling his heat beneath her fingertips. She needed him. She needed to nestle herself on his chest and tell him all that she could not say when Alys was on the same room. She just wanted her gone at once, by the gods! Sansa was starting to think she herself was more likely to go to bed before the girl got up from that dreadful chair.

"Just give me some paper and ink," she asked, trying her best to not let her mask fall. Not just yet.

How had she not thought of this before? She must be an imbecile. It was the only explanation, of course.

If Alys would not leave them alone, then Sansa was just losing her time, waiting, and waiting, and waiting. And if there was something she learned in the midst of all the terrible things that had happened to her, something she could take and use from amongst the shambles left by the ones that had abused her and that still made her wake up in the middle of the night screaming, was that she couldn't count on anyone to take care of her matters for her.

Aside from Jon, at least.

"Lord Elric had six children, you see," she said. "If you look at the Umber family tree maybe it is easier to understand what happened."

She took the quill from his hand.

"The plague took almost half the North's population that year."

Wait, she scribbled on the paper.

"Amongst them were Lord Elric's wife, Lady Jeyne..."

Go to my room, she continued.

Shaking from both unease and anticipation, she looked again at Alys. She was still absorbed in her task, maybe too absorbed, if Sansa thought about it more than just a heartbeat.

However, Jon had held his breath, his eyes fixed on the paper sheet before him, where Sansa pretended to draw family trees. She forced herself to remain composed, like Lady Sansa had learned to behave most of the time. Focusing on what she said and not on what she wrote, and pretending that there was nothing between them aside what is usual between cousins, at least for anyone else. That they were just working together to do what was best for Winterfell, for the North.

"And so did their children, was it not?" Jon asked, his voice hoarse.

After me, Sansa added.

"Yes, that was it," she said, smiling. "I think there are no records of it because everyone was so busy burying the dead and trying to take care of the living. Although I remember Old Nan telling us about it when we were children. Are you sure you understood everything?"

She looked at him. Then at what she wrote. Then again at him. His eyes, the ones she decided about half a moon ago were grey, were almost black and too wide, half hidden behind the black tresses falling to his brow. Sansa forced herself to keep her poise, taming the whirlwind of impatience inside her, and folded her arms on her chest, waiting for his response.

"Thank you, I think so," he answered. "You were clear enough."


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa circled the table again and sat back on her chair, grabbing the shirt with shaky fingers.

What was she doing, really? When did she get so bold? And how, how on earth was she going to get rid of the guard at her door?

Jabbing the needle, pulling the thread, going back. Pulling the thread, jabbing the needle again.

Her head was working faster than her own fingers, weighting every option. She could just hit him really hard in the head and hope he would pass out. No, when the man recovered his senses he would most likely tell everyone who cared to listen that the Lady of Winterfell had attacked one of her men. Maybe if she just found an excuse as to why Jon was visiting her room in the middle of the day? But what decent reason would he have to visit her room, after all? Help her change the curtains? No, that was not going to work either. Maybe she could just send the guard on some task. Fetch her something? A maid to draw her a bath? No, not a good idea either, she would get rid of the guard but then he'd come back and now she had to take care of a maid as well.

No, something to keep him occupied for the rest of the afternoon, maybe part of the evening too. How long would it take, after all?

Perhaps the whole night would be wiser, and safer.

She recalled the guard assigned to her this night was Cregan and her face lighted up in delight with her own cunning.

The mask, she had to put the mask back on. She would not smile until she was alone with Jon in her room and everything had gone as planned. It was not a flawless plan, that was quite right, but it was the best Sansa had. And she was sure Jon was not dumb enough to enter her room if he knew someone could see him. He had not done it in the past moon, he would not do it now. So technically there was always a way to back away before anyone could really suspect anything.

"Should we open a window? Alys?" Sansa asked, waving her hand in front of her face. "Would you mind? I think I'm suffocating."

Three, four, twist.

"Sorry, m'lady," the girl replied, lifting her head and laying her work on her lap. "It's snowing outside, maybe you didn't notice yet. You might get ill!"

"Oh, maybe it is just me, then. I am not feeling too well, I think," Sansa added, biting her cheeks in order to avoid a smile. "I am feeling a little light-headed."

"Maybe you should get some rest," Jon suggested, without looking away from his book, as if he truly could not care less. "You've been sewing for too long and the light is not good enough for that."

Sansa frowned. Although she knew Jon had the best intention, maybe he'd gone a little too far with that one. Alys was knitting and she was even further away from the window. The girl was not that dumb.

"That's true, m'lady! With seams as small and perfect as yours one can tire one's eyes and one's head a little too easily."

Sansa almost applauded with glee after that. She grabbed the opportunity before her with both hands.

"You are right, Alys. I think I will go to bed, then," she announced, folding the shirt and putting it in her basket. "Maybe if I get some sleep I will feel better. Do not worry I do not come down to have supper."

"Do you want me to accompany you, m'lady?" Alys offered, her brow furrowed with genuine concern, the same Jon was trying and failing to mimic. He knew Sansa too well not to know that this sudden ailment was just part of her strategy.

"Alys, what would I do without you!" Sansa almost hit herself in the face. She was trying too hard now. "No, you should stay, your shawl will not finish itself, after all. And I think I can manage."

With that she decided it was time to stop talking. With her basked dangling in her arm, she left Jon and Alys behind, and took the stairs to her chambers. Her old chambers, the room she slept in when the world was in its proper place, before her lord father had taken Arya and her to King's Landing and all had gone wrong.

She had not had the courage to occupy her parent’s quarters after they were desecrated by Ramsay Bolton and his beasts. Although after they had won Winterfell back Jon had ordered everything changed, from curtains and pillows and chairs to the very stones on the floors and the walls as far as it was possible, until Sansa could not recognise a thing. However, she had given those chambers to Jon, part as a reward, for he had been the one to win the battle, part so she would sleep sheltered by the same walls that surrounded her at a time when she believed in honourable knights and gallant princes.

Cregan. Sansa had been hoping with all her might that he would not be there. That she would not have to lie yet again. Gathering her wits again, she reminded herself that she had everything planned, for she had learnt a long time ago that there was no use in hoping everything would turn out the way she wanted to unless she prepared for the worst.

It worked again.

Sansa found herself alone in her room, with no guard at her door and no replacement coming. She sat on her bed, facing the door and taping the blanket under her, trying to prevent her heart from shooting out of her mouth.

Why was Jon taking so long?

Maybe he was not coming after all. Maybe he had found somebody on the corridors and decided not to come.

She stood up, her lips dry and her legs shaking. Should she braid her hair? Should she leave it as it was?

And then footsteps outside, the sound of heavy boots approaching.

Sansa tried to still her breath and crossed her arms in her chest. She was Sansa Stark. She was the Lady of Winterfell. She could keep calm and collected no matter what happened. She was strong. She was in control.

A knock on the door.

She almost tripped in her own feet while running to the other side of the room and opening it.

Sansa knew that her heart should have stilled then. But it drummed loudly in her chest instead, pumping the blood faster than ever in her veins, throbbing in her head and in her stomach.

Jon was there.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to say sorry in advance because this weekend I'll be working every night, so maybe the next update won't come until Sunday about the same time as usual. Just a heads up in case you want to save this chapter for later. Hope you enjoy!

He slid into the room, shutting the door behind him. In the blink of an eye, Sansa was hanging from his neck, her whole body pressed to his, and kissing Jon's lips as if the sky might fall the very next moment. He smelt almost too good, like home and comfort and happiness altogether.

Jon dug his long fingers on the small of her back, pulling her even closer. She sighed into his mouth. Sansa had been missing him for way too long, her whole body aching to be touched and Jon's large hands not reaching nearly as much as they needed to.

"No one saw you?" she asked, when his lips left hers to focus on the curve of her neck. He loved that particular spot.

"Not a soul, I swear," he answered as he started to undo the laces at the back of her dress. "What have you done to your guard?"

"I told him that he had been very loyal and deserved a reward. He has a new sweetheart, you see," Sansa explained, shoving her hands beneath Jon's shirt, his muscles flexing at her touch, his breath hissing in his mouth. "So he should go to her. If he did not tell anyone I would not either. That way they will not send anyone to take his place."

"Clever," Jon declared, not really paying attention and deciding to claim her mouth instead. He rubbed his tongue on her lips, demanding entrance, and she obliged with a little gasp. Sansa’s blood run fast in her veins, warming her whole body and reminding her that she was still alive, there was joy and contentment to be found and that she still had a heart beating in her chest.

She buried her nails in the soft flesh of his neck, forcing a low groan out of Jon’s mouth as she bit his lower lip. That might have been the most wonderful noise he had ever made, giving her a sense of pride she had never felt before.

Jon was taking too long to undress her, though, fighting too much with the fabric, tugging too clumsily at the laces. Maybe it was because he was a little too busy running his other hand from her hip to her waist, stopping only when he found her breast. Perhaps he was not so clumsy after all, for she had arched her back to Jon’s hand, moaning properly as he caressed her trough the fabric.

Her head was floating far above the clouds, her body burning and aching for him. But yet she found the strength to grab his wrist in her small hand and shoving it away from her.

“Wait,” she told him.

Jon took the chance to gasp for air, now that his lips were free, his arms falling to his sides and his brow furrowed with concern.

“Is something wrong?” he asked her, his voice hoarse. “Should we stop?”

Sansa did not answer him. Instead, she took a few steps back, looking at him. Really looking at him for the first time since he had entered her room.

She did not deserve him, she thought, as her heart swelled in her chest. She did not deserve him and yet no words were enough to express how grateful she felt for having him.

It had started as the comfort of something familiar from a happier time, although a former bastard brother and one she treated more than unfairly, to say the least. Then how he cared for her, trying as hard as he could to keep away from her anything that could remind her of the horrors she had been through. And one day she had noticed how he never treated her like a silly girl, like everyone else in her life had before him. He had listened to her, he had asked for her advice.

He had made her feel like she mattered.

She did not quite know when she had started to see him as a man. When she had begun to admire his broad shoulders as he practised sword fighting in the courtyard, or how his forearms tensed when he sustained his weight on the table as he was reading his books. It had took him a little longer to see her as a woman, though, but at the moment it did not feel important. He was there, waiting patiently for her next move, and that was all that mattered.

Looking Jon in the eye, Sansa reached behind her back and unlaced her dress with ease, letting it drain along her body until it reached her feet. Her heart thumped in her chest, just like when she had stood on her tiptoes to kiss him.

His grey eyes widened and he clenched his fists, his jaw tense.

She grabbed the hem of her shift and threw it over her head, feeling her cheeks burn as she noticed Jon wetting his lips.

“Never seen a woman naked?” she teased, trying to shake off some the awkwardness between them.

“Never seen you naked,” Jon corrected, closing the distance between them and kissing her fiercely, a mess of lips and tongues and teeth.

Sansa pressed herself against him once again, guiding his hand back to her breast as if granting him permission to do as he pleased. She moaned again when his calloused fingers caressed her nipple as he sucked gently on her shoulder.

Gods, was she fortunate?

She run her hand through his curls, pushing him to her as much as she could.

“Is this alright?” he asked, before taking her nipple in his mouth.

“Gods!” Sansa cried out, pulling at his hair maybe too harshly.

Jon sucked, licked and bit as much as he pleased, realising a small chuckle every time he made her moan, perhaps proud of himself. He was driving her mad and he knew it, but that was still not enough for Sansa. She wanted him. She wanted him too much and he had too much clothes on him. She grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged impatiently.

"Jon, please," Sansa begged.

"Please what?" he asked, with a smirk she would be more than glad to wipe of his face under other circumstances.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay, and I know it may be too little too late but in the last 72h I think I rested a total of 10h, and tomorrow I have to get up really early so this is all I can post for the moment. I hope to have another chapter by tomorrow night and finish the story by the end of the week. But for now here we have some sexy time (I hope). Thank you all for reading and for you comments/kudos. Hope you enjoy!

Sansa grabbed him by the neck and crushed his lips in a bruising kiss. She took his hand in hers and guided it to her folds, gasping as his fingers found the answer to his question. Sansa felt her face burn, embarrassed with her sudden boldness.

She had never done this before.

Not like that at least. And certainly not because she wanted it.

There had been a time when she believe that anything happening between a man and a woman would always make her feel nauseous, filthy and worthless. It had took her long enough to heal at least part of the wound, enough so she could suppress that thoughts to the back of her head and just focus on Jon's fingers on her, a slow torture that made her bite his lip to muffle a moan.

There was only Jon, and she wanted Jon. He would never force her.

Never.

And anytime those intruding memories tried to ruin everything for her, take away what little happiness she had found, Sansa chanted that on her head over and over again, until there was only Jon again.

He slipped a finger effortlessly inside her, then another one, more hesitant this time. Uncertainty hit Sansa then. It was happening, after all, after wanting Jon for so long. That other time had not really counted, too rushed and with an hear on the other side of the door while it lasted, and although Sansa had enjoyed it enough she had not really given much thought to what meant having Jon kneeling at her feet kissing her between her legs. But this time was different. She had not only given long thought to what would happen but also decided what, when and how it would happen.

“Is everything alright?” Jon asked, knitting his brows. Slowly, he removed his fingers, making her gasp again, this time at the loss of his touch. “You don’t have to do this, Sansa.”

“I want to,” she said, toying with the knots of his shirt. “Please, Jon, I want you. I am doing this because I want you.”

Jon caressed her cheek and kissed her again, softly this time. Sansa’s chest filled with tenderness, her heart drumming with the most genuine joy. This, this was different. This she wanted.

When they parted, Jon let her remove his shirt, and she marvelled at his naked chest, tracing every muscle, every line and every curve with the tip of her fingers. She had imagined what he looked like more than once, when Jon was on the other side of the room, stealing fleeting glances from her when he thought no one but she was looking. She had made an image of him in her head, when she caressed him through his shirt when they stole kisses in the dark corners of the castle. Sansa had felt his lean but hard muscles beneath the fabric, and sometimes she had dared to sneak a hand under his shirt, making him suck in a breath in surprise.

However, she did not know how pale his skin was, or how many freckles or faded scars marked his torso. She started to plant featherlike kisses on the hollow of his throat, smiling with pride when she earned a little groan from him. Jon’s fingers tangled in her hair as her lips moved lower, kissing his breastbone, his belly, his left hip. When Sansa scraped her teeth there, Jon moaned louder, raking his short nails in her scalp, and she chuckled, pleased with what she had learned. Pleased to find out she could make him come undone as effortlessly as he could make her beg for him.

 “May I?” Sansa asked, as she hooked her fingers on the waistband of his breeches.

“Please.”

She had told herself she would not be surprised. That she would act as if having Jon completely naked in front of her was as common as getting up every morning. At least she would not mind that, she thought, seeing him bare as often as the sun rose in the horizon. But that was not the reality and although she tried her best to remain calm and collected she felt her mouth dry and her heart hammering her chest as she slid his breeches down his legs.

“I’ve never seen a man naked before,” she said, unable to stop her words. “And surely not this close.”

“I hope I am not that much of a disappointment,” Jon joked, leaning down to take of his boots and helping Sansa remove his breeches at last.

“You could never disappoint me, Jon.”

With that, Jon grabbed her by the waist and crashed his lips to hers, his warm tongue taking only a heartbeat to enter her mouth, muffled moans filling the room as he took Sansa in his arms and laid her carefully on the bed.

“I need you, Jon. Please…” Sansa begged against his neck as Jon’s hands explored any inch of her skin they could reach.

“You are not ready yet,” he told her, as he tried to twist his fingers inside her again. “It would hurt you.”

“Then make me ready,” she demanded, guiding his hand to her nub, gasping as he obliged.

Sansa dug her nails in his wrist as he drew small circles on her, slowly at first. She felt something build inside of her, something she knew to be what she needed from him. That was not how she wanted it, she wanted him inside her, she wanted this to be good for him too, and not just for her like the other time.

“Jon…” she moaned, taking his hand away and grabbing his erection in her hand. She noticed, in shock, she was barely able to encircle him, and started to think that maybe she was not that ready.

Jon grabbed her knees and hooked them on his hips, his grey eyes prodding hers for any sign of doubt or regret. Sansa nodded, nudging him to her with her feet. He kissed her again, as if to distract her as he slid inside of her.

Sansa gasped.

“Am I hurting you?” Jon asked, his lips brushing her forehead.

It felt… Strange. Different. Uncomfortable. But not painful.

She shifted her hips, trying to adjust her body to him, and a jolt of pleasure climbed up her spine as a low groan escaped Jon’s lips.

“I’m fine, Jon. Please move, I don’t think I can wait much longer.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jon slid his fingers tenderly on her thigh, trying to soothe her before sheathing himself to the hilt. Sansa closed her eyes as she sunk her nails between Jon’s shoulder blades, as if she needed to cling to him to avoid losing herself on how good he felt inside her. Jon’s taunt muscles undulated above her, his hot breath caressing her hear as he grunted incoherently. She run her hands down his back, marvelling at the feeling of his warm skin and firm flesh on her fingertips. As her hands moved further down she grabbed his buttocks, encouraging him to thrust harder and faster. Jon chuckled in approval and did not disappoint her, making her lose what little control she had over how loud her moans where as she bucked her hips in time with his.

“You’ll have to be a little quieter, love,” Jon suggested, his words chopped by his ragged breath “You don’t want the whole castle running here thinking someone is killing the Lady of Winterfell.”

“I do not care!” she cried, thrusting her hips up so she could get him to touch that particular spot that had made her whimper once again. “Don’t stop! Don’t stop or I swear by all the gods you will be the one who gets killed!”

All her maids and guards could come. Everyone in Winterfell could find out, and even the Dragon Queen could ride her army to the North and Sansa would face them all. She would not be parted from Jon, never. The queen could send her dragons and burn her, like she did to everyone that crossed her path, for Sansa was a Stark, and she had ice in her veins and she would not burn. King Robert had started a war over a woman- a girl- in love with another man. It was only fair if Sansa did the same for someone who had cared for her so much as Jon did. When she was before the queen again she would…

Her thoughts were interrupted as a jolt of hot pleasure rushed through her flesh, the back of her head tingling as she approached what she realized she had been looking for since that time Jon had used that scandalous mouth of him to please her.

“Are you close?” Jon asked in a low voice, beads of sweat forming in his forehead and damping his dark hair.

Sansa nodded as she looked into his grey eyes, clouded with desire. He held her by the waist with one hand as he used the other to rub her nub. She threw her head back and parted her lips, panting as she felt the tension inside her belly grew even more, until she thought she would not be able to endure it for another heartbeat.

With a few more thrusts, she let go of herself, clenching around him as heat rippled through her skin, her mouth open in a silent cry. Jon’s movements became more erratic, his neck stiff and his lips making the most amazing sounds Sansa had ever heard. With one final thrust, he spent himself inside her, his arms giving way under his weight.

Sansa did not know how long they were like that, Jon crushing her to the mattress, panting against her neck. The Great Winter could have passed, or maybe just a few moments, as she tried to regain control of her body again. They would have to move, eventually, but feeling his warm body on top of her, no matter how sweaty and sticky and in need of a bath she felt, was the sweetest thing she had ever felt on her miserable life. Let the Dragon Queen try to marry Sansa to another man. Let the Dragon Queen come with all of her Seven Kingdoms, if needed be, and try to tear her apart from Jon. Sansa would rise all the North if she had to. No one would ever force ever again. No one would ever take anything away from her ever again.

“Jon,” she called, caressing his back “Jon, please, let me get up.”

“I won’t,” he said, grabbing her by the waist and hiding his face between her breasts “I have decided this is how I want to die.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh at how silly he sounded sometimes, mostly when he was not forcing himself to say the most honourable and righteous thing he could think of. Mostly when he was alone with her. They both had their masks, after all. They both had roles to play on that game someone had forced them to take part in.

“Could you perhaps die a little later, dear?” Sansa tried, pushing him from her “I would like to clean myself now.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, propping himself on his elbow as she left the bed.

Her legs were still shaking when she reached the basin next to the window. As she grabbed the cloth folded on the chest beside it, strong hands took it from her and proceeded to scrub her legs with such care one might think she was made of porcelain. Sansa closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of cold water soothing her sore skin, cleansing her of what remained of their love-making.

“I’ll get some moon-tea for you,” Jon offered, encircling her in his arms and kissing the top of her head.

“I don’t want it. I will marry you before the weirwood tree,” she declared. “If you’ll have me. That is all that matters to me, I will marry you unless you don’t want me. I don’t care about anyone else.”

“Sansa, it is not that simple. You have a duty… I have a duty!”

“To whom?” Sansa roared, twisting in his arms to face him. “Father had a duty to King Robert, Robb had a duty to marry that Frey girl and then Jeyne, and what good did that do to them? To us?”

Jon sighed, his shoulders falling as if admitting defeat, although Sansa knew it would not be that easy. Jon was not ready yet to rebel against his aunt, but she knew she could make him see otherwise. For now, she decided to leave it and kissed him again, instead.

“It will be a while until Cregan comes back. Stay with me a little longer,” she begged, running her hands up and down his arms.

Jon took Sansa’s hand and guided her to bed again, nestling her against his chest as he pulled the covers over them. At least that did not took much convincing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this might be the last chapter but I've decided to write another one, some sort of epilogue, that may or may be not be posted Thursday/Wednesday. Thank you for reading.


	7. Epilogue

“It is your turn,” Sansa grunted, burying her face in the pillow and covering her hears with the blankets.

She felt the change of weight on the mattress as he got up, his steps echoing through the room. She was tired. So tired… Nobody told her it would be so difficult. Well, there was no one to tell her about this things, was there? Sansa had lost her mother, her sister, and although she had made friends amongst her ladies and maids, she did not wished anyone to know that the Lady of Winterfell felt so terrified.

Of course it was something all women talked about when there were no men in their midst. She had learned of how it went and how it ended ever since she was a little girl. But nobody had told her how hard it would afterwards.

Sansa reminded herself that not so long ago she had thought she was brave enough to defy the Dragon Queen if she had to. Now that she thought about it again she decided she would rather face the queen’s army than endure another sleepless night.

“You know that if he is hungry you’ll have to get up all the same?” Jon mumbled, is voice still hoarse from sleeping.

“He is not hungry. And you can always bring him to me.”

She opened her eyes, the little thing’s cries robbing her rest. A moon had passed and he still had not learned how to sleep at least half of the night. Sometimes because he was hungry, sometimes because he was wet, sometimes because he just wanted to sleep in his father’s arms or against his mother’s chest. And how he cried when something was not quite right for him!

Jon picked him up and wrapped the small bundle in his arms. How could a thing that small make so much noise, after all? Although, she could not bring herself to hate him, not when her heart filled with joy when Jon lulled him to sleep, singing old lullabies that she was sure nobody had sung to him when he was that small. Or when he caressed the baby’s soft cheeks with the same reverence she thought was only reserved to the most precious jewel in the world.

“Shhh… There’s no need to cry now, Robb. We’re here, we’re not going anywhere.” Jon said, softly, as he came back to bed.

“Give him to me,” Sansa asked, lifting herself until she had her back against the headboard.

“Your mother did not even wanted to wake up in the first place and now she thinks I will give you up that easily” Jon said, a playful smirk on his lips.

“And your father is a fool,” she said with the sweetest voice she could manage as she caressed Robb’s black curls. “He sure does look like you.”

“It’s not that bad!” Jon protested “His eyes are as blue as yours, though. He can still hope to grow up as handsome as his mother, I guess.”

Sansa kissed him, trying to make him understand all that she could not say. That she was grateful, so grateful for what they had. Grateful that they had decided to stop hiding themselves after the first time they spent the night together. Grateful that her household felt more than happy that she was to marry someone as high regard in the North as Jon, the man that had freed him from the Boltons and their horrors. Grateful that the queen had agreed that they married after Sansa had sent her a very long letter explaining why Jon was the best match for her, even if she forgot that she loved him, because the North was with him before it answer to any other Lord in the Seven Kingdoms. Grateful that they could walk through the market, her hand in his arm, and that he sat at her right as Lord of Winterfell in the presence of the lords and ladies that visited them. Grateful that Jon loved her just the same as she loved him. And grateful for little Robb, named after the brother they both loved and had lost to duty and other people’s games.

She laid her head on Jon’s shoulder, her chest swelled with pride as she looked at the baby. He was truly the most marvellous thing in the world, and she still could not understand how so much devotion could fit in her heart, how she could love so much and in such a different manner two people at the same time. Sansa closed her eyes, the gentle rise and fall from Jon’s chest soothing her as it had done to her son, now fast asleep in his father’s arms.

They had put their duties aside. After all, Jon had decided, Sansa was right. The Starks had gotten nothing but trouble every time they had tried to do fulfil their obligations instead of doing what they thought was right. And although winter had come, Jon had found that it was much easier to endure if he stayed by Sansa’s side.

Looking at little Robb’s peaceful face as he sucked his little hand, Jon was certain that the Gods could indeed forgive the ones that broke their vows for a higher cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think this is the end. I sure enjoyed writing it, and I'm thinking about writing some more, maybe some sort of prequel or something. I don't know, but I love this two too much to let them go just yet. Thank you so much for reading!


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